


FLIRT

by Queenoftheuniverse



Series: ALTER-ALTER'VERSE [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Disections, Dissasociative Identity Disorder, Drug Use, Flirting, Forensics, M/M, Punk!lock, Raves, Semi dub con, male sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to the popularity of Flirt from ALTER'VERSE I have created a University AU with John/Flirt and Sherlock as a goth/punk/emo at university.</p><p>John is a nice hetero glasses wearing nerd with a distinct separate personality called Flirt. Flirt is a homosexual raver who likes glitter and ecstasy. </p><p>Sherlock, recently returned to London at the death of his father and insistence of his brother Mycroft, enrols in the same university as John and Flirt.Despite his piercings and dyed hair, his black clothes and miserable outlook, meeting John and then Flirt turns out to be the very best thing that ever happens to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. UNIVERSITY

FLIRT

CHAPTER ONE: UNIVERSITY

By the time John Watson was in University has was quite aware he had two distinct personalities. 

There was the normal him,John, hard working, loyal, strong moral compass, very very smart. Wore black rimmed glasses and nice suits. It was John who set himself up with the very best grades through school so he could study Forensic Medicine once he got to university. It was John who got a car licence. It was John who drank tea and ate biscuits, went to the gym and borrowed books from the library. It was John who voted and took an interest in music. John was heterosexual and dated lovely girls his mother would love. His intention, of course, was to get married and have children. Somehow he never got past three or four dates with these lovely women.

But the other personality was way different. 

His name was Flirt, and he was loud, fun, a sensational seeker. He sought out parties, was homosexual, smoked, drank, took drugs, wore glitter and had a lot of sexual adventures. Mostly he kept himself safe but sometimes he found himself in situations where he had to fight his way out. He didn't need to wear glasses, liked to gel his hair and wear leather bracelets. His clothes were tight fitting and he had a relaxed attitude to work.

John was concerned that Flirt would not fit in at Uni but for some reason his worries were unfounded. John studied, did well in his lectures, and always got his assignments in on time. His assignments were fine too, and, while he was not the cleverest in his class, he was certainly up there. 

Only occasionally he woke on the morning covered in glow in the dark paint and wearing Bike shorts... 

After two years at University life was going well for John. And, he supposed, for Flirt.

#

Sherlock Holmes detested the university he had transferred to but Mycroft had insisted he come back to London to study now Siger was dead and there was no animosity. While Mycroft was not one hundred supportive of Sherlocks lifestyle, he was happy to have him back in his circle of influence. Being a minor government official had its perks, and one of them was getting his misfit punk rock little brother into forensics at Fortenum University, a very prestigious medical school.

The second Sherlock arrived he was the centre of rumours and unwanted supposition. He was six foot two, painfully thin, pale. His hair was shaved behind one ear and bleached blonde, the rest of his hair was wild and curly with blue streaks (this week). He had two eye brow piercings, a black spreader in one ear, a tongue piercing, a labret piercing and a lip ring to the very left of his mouth. He wore outrageously tight black jeans, huge doc Martin boots and the very first day he had on a white T-shirt with a black and blue striped hoodie over the top.

He was hardly med school material from outward appearances, but inward, he was a mega genius. What he didn't know about dead things was small. However, the first week he did nothing to endear himself by announcing the rest of his class were 'dullards' and even subjected some of them to observations they did not necessarily want others to know about. He slouched about and generally made himself unpopular and, what he really aimed for, unreachable. When one had been treated as badly as one had by ones own father...well, even the kindness of Mycroft was too little too late.

And then Sherlock Holmes and John Watson met.

#


	2. HANDY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets John and they get on quite well, despite there being Sally Donovan and a dead arm in the room.

FLIRT

CHAPTER TWO: HANDY

Sherlock arrived on time for his first prac. He was dressed the same as yesterday but his hoodie was black with a white skull on the back. He thought it quite witty. Had Mycroft seen he would have shot an eyebrow at him. Another good reason Sherlock saw for living by himself, along with being able to leave interesting experiments all over the place and not have anyone screeching when some sort body part jumped out at them.

The class was small, only nine students as not everyone at Med School wanted to deal exclusively with dead bodies.

In the middle of the room was a sheet covered gurney and on that gurney was a severed human forearm, cut off just below the elbow. Sherlock was fascinated. He had seen whole bodies before, quite a few of them, he sometimes bullied his way into crime scenes and made a useful nuisance of himself with the silver haired ridiculously tanned French sounding named Detective at New Scotland Yard.

But to get a close up of a specific part was really awesome. Perhaps this Uni would not be so bad after all.

Professor Gregson came in, white coat, grey hair. He looked over the class and stared at Sherlock. Blue streaked hair, piercings, and all black clothes....

"You in the right class son?"

"Droll." Sherlock sighed. Once again, his appearance precluded any logic. Of course this was his class. Unless one was interested in forensics, why would anyone want to come face to....arm, with dead bits of humans? 

"Ah...so you are Sherlock then." Gregson sighed, looking at the information which had been left on his desk. Sherlock merely nodded, arms crossed over his chest, lanky body concave. "Right, well, this is Forensics prac. You'll need to put a disposable apron on as this could get messy."

As they were pulling the aprons on the door opened and a harassed John Watson hurried in.

"Sorry I am late."

"Only by three minutes Mister Watson." Gregson said, indulging the man with a smile. Sherlock surmised he was nearly the best student in the class and therefore little allowances were made. The man, Sherlock now knew as Mister Watson, was compact, with short blonde hair, but a fringe that flopped into his blue eyes. He had thick rimmed glasses on, brown corduroy trousers, white shirt, brown tie and a real life tweedy jacket with leather elbow patches. Nothing special.

John slid his brown leather briefcase under a desk and hurried to put a disposable plastic apron on. 

"Watson, you team up with Sherlock, I'll take Molly, the rest of you pair up."

John looked about and Sherlock caught his eye.

"Sherlock?" he asked, putting out his hand. Sherlock nodded, shaking Watsons hand.

"John." John said, smiling a genuine smile, eyes crinkling a little at the edges. Sherlock did his usual up and down look and was surprised that, although he deduced quite a lot of things about this man, there was gaping holes in the available knowledge. One thing he realised was this man was anything but plain, despite his outward appearance. Now interesting...

"Rough night?" Sherlock asked.

"Studying." John said, and Sherlock raised his be-silvered eyebrow. 

"Maybe some of the time." Sherlock said. "Some of the time was wrangling a difficult...brother. Substance abuse problem, comes to you for help and you will always help him. Leaves you less time to study so you have to choose study or sleep. Sometimes study wins, sometimes sleep. Makes you not a morning person."

"Christ Holmes, you have just met him, leave him be!" Sally Donovan snapped. She had already had a class with him. He correctly deduced she was sucking off Professor Anderson. Apparently it pissed her off."Freak." she snapped.

John, however had not reacted the same way. In fact, after he had dropped Sherlocks hand, he kept his eyes on Sherlocks face. His eyes were twinkling and he didn't seem cross at all.

"John, step away, the freak might rub off on you!" Sally said and someone snickered.

"Ah. Yes. Step away." Sherlock sighed, crossing his arms again, folding into himself. Then, to his surprise, John laughed.

"Just because it is not common knowledge does not mean I am mortified it is out there. Nobody has ever bothered to ask." John shrugged. "what you just deduced, by simply looking...that was amazing."

"You think so?"

"Most people think I am lazy or time poor. You saw straight away there is another reason." John said. "So thanks, for not jumping to conclusions." 

Sally had the decency to blush and look away. She often called John Lazy Bum or Dumb Blonde for the amount of time he was late to somewhere, or forgot. 

Everyone slowly made their way to the front of the class, but John and Sherlock hung back a bit. John had already studied an arm in his spare time, he was in with the local morgue thanks to Molly Hooper, Gregsons partner, and Sherlock never went to the front of the class.

"I understand the assumption problem." Sherlock leaned into John and said quietly.

"Oh?" John said, confused. What could people assume....?Then his eyes lightened. "Oh, the piercings."

Sherlocks eyes actually brightened and looked bemused but in a good way.

"Yes, the five silver piercings. In my face." Sherlock indicated his visage with one hand.

"Two in your eyebrows, one in your lip, one in your labret..."

Sherlock poked his tongue out.

"Ah." John laughed."One in your tongue!"

"Usually people tell me to fuck off." Sherlock said then.

"In general, or because of the guessing thing?"

"Both really. And it's not guessing. I deduced you."

"Not on a first date." John deadpanned. "Deduced?"

"Observed-"

"If you have quite finished ladies, look this way, and let's cut into this arm." Gregson said. "Molly, the scalpel, if you would."

"Ah." Sherlock said, nodding. So Molly was the most accomplished in the class. Worked at the morgue. Had a boyfriend in IT. 

"Yeah, she's good." John whispered. "Let's me into the morgue sometimes to practice. She works there. Her boyfriend, Jim, is here in IT. He's a funny thing. Be Interested in what you have to say about him."

Sherlock sighed. Yeah, now he was useful to John. Disappointing. He opened his mouth to protest when John went on:

"I think he's hurting Molly."

Oh, so it was general concern. Thing is, Sherlock was NOT concerned. Could not give a shit about Molly or Jim. But John...was very much different. Nicer. And Sherlock responded to nice, despite the obvious anti-social armour he presented to the world. He had not had nice. He had nice-ISH, with Mycroft, and the tanned detective, and the one long term relationship he had had, but never a mate. Would a mate say yes, to help...?

"I could give him a once over." Sherlock found himself offering and John nodded his thanks. They agreed to meet for coffee after school today at the local shop where Jim frequented. Sherlock was a little bit confused at the way he was being propelled along by fate, and that he was allowing it, but fuck it. Sigur was dead and he had no need to be so concretely rigid in his conduct. 

He could, of he wanted, make friends and keep them. 

So, yeah, let's start with John Watson.

#


	3. KLATCH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has coffee and deduces a few things, but not others. John has a bit of inner turmoil.

FLIRT

CHAPTER THREE: KLATCH

Sherlock found John in the corner of the coffee shop, tweed jacket off, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. He had papers scattered about him and two mugs of coffee in front of him.

"Watson." Sherlock nodded, and slid into a chair next to him. 

"I ordered you a coffee. Wasn't sure how you had it so got it black no sugar like mine. Figured you could add in what you wanted." John said, barely looking up from his papers.

"Perfect." Sherlock said. He used to have milk and sugar until he became too poor to afford either. Now Mycroft paid him an allowance as long as it was not spent on..."recreation of an unhealthy sort" as he put it. Stuffy overbearing prig....

He took a sip.

"So which one is Jim ?"

"Hmmm..oh jeez, I am sorry Sherlock, late night..." John looked up and began to slide his papers away. "I am having trouble with...ah never mind. I'll get it, eventually." He did not want the man to think he wanted to be friends just for his intellect. He liked Sherlock enough, even now, having really just met, to not want to hurt his feelings. But then, John was a good man. A nice man.

"Maybe....If your brother doesn't keep you up again." Sherlock said, commenting on Johns concentration problem. John had a strange look but Sherlock figured it was because nobody really knew about Johns issues, and it was weird for him to have someone who did know. And didn't care enough to judge.

John turned and looked out over the coffee shop. 

"There." he said, and pointed to a tiny black haired man up the back of the shop. He was holding court with Molly and a big bruiser of a bloke. The little guy had his arm around Molly and she looked happy enough.

"The other bloke, friend of Jim's?" Sherlock asked.

"Sebastian. Nice bloke. Plays for the Uni football team." 

"Looks like a juggernaut." Sherlock scoffed.

"Yeah, think he's territorial army too."

"Yes. He is actually armed right now."

John choked on his coffee.

"Really? I am sure that is dreadfully illegal."

"Dreadfully." Sherlock said. "And Jim is not hurting Molly. Not physically."

"Amy other way?"

"Not yet."

"I like Molly. She's sweet. Loves being around dead people a bit too much, but sweet anyway."

"She is with Jim because she cannot get the one she wants, and Jim is really into Sebastian. He IS hurting the big boy but it is way consensual."

"Jim's gay?"

"Jim is many things."

"Well its fine if he is, it's all fine."

"Yes, you know some gay blokes and they are pretty alright, yes?" Sherlock quipped sardonically.

"Erm...no, the only gay blokes I know are complete prats, but I don't get out much." John sighed. "Sometimes I would like to but I need to get my degree in Forensics so I can work with New Scotland Yard. My dream job!"

"Ah, I know the Detective Inspector at NSY." Sherlock said, sipping his coffee again, hunching back over the table.

"You know Lestrade?"

"Lestrade! That's his fucking name! I knew it was French!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Yes, silver hair, tanned as George Hamilton?"

"Yep, poncy git, that's him."

"I am reliably informed he is a 'silver fox' which is a good thing. Apparently."

"He's a good enough looking bloke. Not as stupid as some at his job." Sherlock acknowledged.

"Can't believe you know him. That's awesome."

Sherlock merely nodded. John was looking, really looking at Sherlock, now. He could see the flatness in his new friends expression, the way he seemed to be just existing, to be not entirely here. John was pretty sure Sherlock enjoyed the persona he represented but not the person he was. And what colour did you call those eyes?

Sherlock looked over at John and was surprised to see the appraisal. Sherlock had already seen enough of John to have what he figured was a start, a launching pad to get to know John, but once again, there was something....almost like John was a replicant, this tweedy tie wearing nerdy glasses John was only part of him, a shadow. The real him sure, but there was something...lurking.

"What colour would you call your eyes?" John finally asked, an innocent enough question, just a man seeking information. So why did Sherlock feel funny...like, good funny? 

"Sea green." Sherlock said. "Sometimes silver in Neon lights."

"Oh..." John deflated. Sherlock deduced it was not from the descriptive colour Sherlock has given him but something about Neon. "In a lot of Neon lights are you?"

Sherlock shrugged, unsure what John was asking him.

"I have never seen them go silver. I have been told." he said, finishing his coffee. "I have to go John. Keep a friendly eye on Molly and she should be okay. I think she just needs to see how bad it can get before she can appreciate what's right in front of her."

"Cryptic, somewhat mean, but yeah, I think that's Molly in a nut shell." John said. 

Sherlock stood. Really, John didn't realise Molly was in love with him? Even with the letting him into the morgue after hours? It was practically an old fashioned hanky dropped at Johns feet. But yeah...John was oblivious.

"Thanks for the coffee." Sherlock said.

"Welcome." John said then, spreading his papers out again. Then, he slid aside his folder, pulled out a flyer and it to Sherlock without looking.

"There's a rave this Saturday night. You said neon. I assume you like dancing. Here."

"Oh...uh...thanks." Sherlock said. He actually DID like dancing. But why did he feel as though John was disappointed in him for this? He folded the paper and put it in the back pocket of his tight black jeans. "See you tomorrow. John."

John smiled down at his papers, and caught himself doing so. Bloody hell, that voice...okay no no no. No.

Sherlock would be just a mate. Once again it would be Flirt who, like a Canadian Mountie, always got his man. 

Only this time John felt...he may just fight Flirt for this one. Just this once....

#


	4. E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kids, don't do drugs. They fuck you up. In a wardrobe. In a rave warehouse. Covered in glitter...

FLIRT

CHAPTER FOUR: E

Sherlock could feel the music before he could hear it. The warehouse loomed before him, all pretty lights and thumping bass. Glittery shiny people gathered outside to smoke and greet, tight leather trousered people paid and went in, punky goth emos like himself skulked. 

He had worn his lucky tight black jeans tonight. The ones with the studded belt and the long chain from front pocket to back pocket. He loved the way it felt bouncing against his thigh. His boots were black with heavy silver buckles on the side that clinked as he walked, setting a rhythm that was all his. He wore a long sleeved white tee under a black T-shirt with a cartoon pinup chick in chains on it. His hair was spiked and gelled, his piercings shiny. He was ready to get royally fucked up and to dance. He knew John would not be there, he was not the sort, but surely someone would find him attractive enough to take home and fuck.

Sherlock paid his money and went inside. The place was crowded and jumping. He could feel his heart begin to stammer in his chest, the combined excitement of the beat, the lights and the prospect of drugs and dancing. He purchased a bottle of water and slid it into a special holder on his studded belt. Now, find a dealer, get some yum, get some...

There. By the men's toilet. He recognised that look anywhere. Here to sell, but hated drug addicts. Hated this god awful music. Wanted to go him to his fire and his dog. 

Sherlock strode over, shoved a twenty into the mans hand. The man handed him what he needed and Sherlock wasted no time downing it. Now, it was a matter of time before the fun times and the forgetting...

The dance floor looked attractive, all those pretty people dancing. His blood fizzled and he crooked a smile, his lip piercing tugging his skin for a minute. What could he do but join in?

As he threaded through the crowd he caught a glimpse of something shiny. Shiny was almost always good. He changed direction and headed for it. Oh, it was a dancer...

The man was delicious. His combat boots and neon socks were incongruous with the tiny shiny shorts that completed the outfit. The sequins on the shorts looked like coins and Sherlock bet if he put his ear to them he would hear them jingle. He snorted at the image, and trailed his eyes up further. No shirt. A beautifully muscled chest and abdomen, the man obviously worked out. Delightful golden hairs on his nipples and trailing down to the jingling shiny shorts. Glitter pasted all over his beautiful tanned skin, oh...those thighs..smooth and brown and glittery.

In his hands were two glow sticks, which he was twirling around in time to the music. His eyes were closed, lips parted and kind of moist. Hair spiked and covered in spray glitter. He had two neon stripes painted across his cheeks. 

Oh, interesting scars below his collar bone. Two identical and symmetrical. Large. Ritualistic but not scarification...oh he lost the train of thought then because the shiny man turned around and oh...

Dat ass!!

Tight and firm and concave at the hips in those tiny shorts, just plain black at the back, with a glittery overspray from..oh, that back! Those shoulders! No scars at the back though. Perfect smooth brown skin, accentuated by glitter and sweat...

Sherlock wanted to touch this man. With his tongue...

Glittery jingle Adonis chose that second to turn around. His eyes opened and...oh...blue. Very blue. Sherlock was in his orbit now, very close, swaying his snakes hips to some rhythm he was sure was not the music.

And then the sun came out. Adonis smiled. Pointed at him with his glow stick.

"Sherlock!" he cried. Oh blessed be, how did glitterdonnis know his name? "John told me about you! My name is...well, you may call me Flirt."

Sherlock nodded and then his genius intellect came whimpering into play. Oh. This was Johns fucked up brother. Johns beautiful beautiful fucked up brother...

Sherlock smiled. John would hate him...maybe John would never know....oh Flirt was smiling, leaning in closer. Whispering in his ear.

"Pleasure..." he purred. "To meet you."

Ho. Lee. SHIT!

Sherlock shivered. That fucking voice in his ear, damn, that look in his eyes...he could barely stay standing as all his blood went south. Then suddenly Flirt was tilting his head up. Sherlock moved mere centimetres and their lips met. 

Flirt kissed dirty. Tongue. Teeth. Lips. Sucked his lip piercing. Oh my, Sherlock could barely keep up. Flirt pressed his hot glittery body against Sherlocks but that was all the contact they had, lips and chest. Sherlocks arms hung worthlessly by his side while Flirt had put his hands behind his own back, holding the glow sticks against his arse. He undulated like a python against Sherlock and Sherlock moaned. Shit shit...shit..this was good. So good.

Flirt snapped his mouth from Sherlocks! Dragging back on the lip ring for a mere second, and grabbed Sherlocks shirt, spinning away and dragging Sherlock with him. Sherlock followed meekly behind knowing what was going to happen and not caring. Flirt threw his glow sticks to a mate and kept barging through the crowd until they reached a muted, red carpeted hallway. Flirt led him down this way. Sherlock had a feeling Flirt had done this before and yet...and yet, Sherlock did not appear to mind. Flirt wanted him. And he wanted to be wanted by Flirt!

They came to a door that said "Wardrobe". Flirt shoved the door open, pushed Sherlock inside and slammed the door shut. True to the door signage it was a wardrobe, just three sides of clothes and a small window lit by a flashing neon sign outside that announced the name of the club. Obviously it was the local pantomimes clothes storage judging by all the velvet and wigs and cowns and..oh

Flirt had him crowded against a velvet wallpapered wall. He once again leaned up and took Sherlocks lips. The kiss was just a dirty only now Sherlock could hear his piercings clicking on Flirts teeth and hear all the little moany sounds Flirt was making and...damn didn't they go straight to his already straining prick. 

Flirts hands went to Sherlocks hips and they held him tight against the wall. Sherlock found it difficult to move and then, when Flirts tongue came into play, difficult to remain standing. Flirts hands then travelled up under Sherlocks T-shirts and stroked his pale, hairless stomach, traced his ribs, found his nipples. When Flirt rolled them in his fingers Sherlock gasped in a juddering breath and let it out as a moan, capturing flirts lips again and kissing him deeply, deeper with every painful, glorious roll of Flirts fingers. He broke off, could not concentrate on kissing while his nipples and cock and brain were on fire! He lent into Flirts shoulder and shuddered and groaned, fucking the air with his now rock hard cock.

Flirt kept one hand torturing one of Sherlocks nipples and the other one he snaked down and rubbed Sherlocks cock through his tight black jeans. Sherlock moaned louder and Flirt giggled happily.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" he whispered silkily onto Sherlocks ear. Poor Sherlock had no idea, just that he wanted everything all at once. "Sherlock, tell me...shall I wrap my hand around you and jerk you till you come...or should I drop to my knees and suck you..or would you like to fuck me, here, on all fours like a sexy little doggy for you..."

Sherlock gasped and growled, and then grabbed Flirts wrists. Flirt choked in surprise and then smiled, eyes flaring in heat as they met Sherlocks. Sherlock spun the man around and threw him to the ground. Flirt assumed the position he knew was required of him, all fours, and Sherlock fell to his knees behind him. 

Using his long pale fingers Sherlock tore at the tight jingly shorts until Flirts smooth puckered entrance was on display. He then unzipped himself and heaved out his heavy, hard cock, already soaked with precome. He licked his hand, mixed this with the running moisture from his cock, and slicked Flirts dusky hole. Then, no condom, no lube, no forthought, he nudged the head of his cock into Flirts body, and then slid himself home. Flirt arched up, a voiceless scream in his throat, and then rammed himself back on Sherlocks cock. Sherlock growled, grabbed Flirts hips, and began to ram his fat cock into Flirts tight, wet, slick hole. He snarled and his nose wrinkled, he grit his teeth and hissed, snapped his hips and TOOK Flirt, right there in the wardrobe, took him roughly, not caring of he screamed or protested or told him no. Too late for no. It was yes...yes yes!!

Flirt DID scream, but it was to beg Sherlock to take him, to use him, to fuck him harder. Hurt him, oh Sherlock could hurt him and use him, any way he wanted. And Sherlock wanted...Christ, his balls were boiling with want!

He bent over Flirts sweaty glittery back, bit into that glorious meaty shoulder, sank his teeth in and came to the wonderful cacophony of Flirt screaming in pain and his own release. Sherlock juddered and spasmed and thrust jerkily, tears of exertion in his eyes until finally he was drained. He slipped out of Flirt and looked down at the creamy come pouring from the mans hairless hole, arse in the air, head on the floor, gasping and dribbling in his own wetness. Dirty filthy whore, oh god...

Sherlock zipped up, turned and ran. Ran away from the debauched man he had practically raped, ran away from feelings and ran away from himself. What had been in those drugs? Why had Flirt wanted that? Why had Sherlock been willing and able to give him that?

And shit...would he tell John that Sherlock raped him....

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!!!

#


	5. DRUMS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath and glitter

FLIRT

CHAPTER FIVE: DRUMS

Sherlock woke up, grunted, rolled over, and fell off his bed to the floor with a thump. He came nose to buckle with his stinky boot and jerked away. His mouth tasted like Vulcans had done a sand ritual in it, and was just as dry. He had run most of the way back to his tiny but neat bedsit and had thrown up in the bushes outside before staggering inside. He had skulled some water and then stripped to his purple boyleg pants before collapsing into bed. 

Laying on his fluffy rug now, the nights events came back to him he groaned. He was never ever doing drugs ever again until next time, and how was he ever going to face John? And...did he just leave an actual human being well and truely fucked and dirty, all alone, and ran away like a glass slippered princess?

He had done some bad things, early on, before Sigur died, but this was bad. This was really bad. He felt awful. 

He leant up against his bed and dragged his fingers through his hair. 

"The fuck...." he sighed. He rolled over and crawled to his dresser, pulling out some gypsypants and sliding them up his legs, standing carefully as he did so. They hung low on his hips and swung as he stalked out to his kitchen. He made tea and took it out to the veranda where he lit a cigarette and sat on the cane chair. 

The sun was weakly shining but his flesh still goosebumped up. And when his nipples contracted he hissed. Looking down he saw they were red and bruised and last night came flooding back to him again.

He moaned in embarrassment and smacked his forehead with his cigarette holding hand, sending ash down his face to roll attractively down his belly. God damn, he was a fucking piece of work...how was he going to face John on Monday?

He thumped his head on the glass outdoor table and moaned again, his brain hurting as much as his nipples.

#

When John woke up he was covered in glitter. It was all over the flat. Last night he had fallen asleep here on the couch, studying bone anomalies, and woken up in fairy land. The fuck had Flirt done last night?

Looking down his body he noted he was in the worlds tiniest most shiniest shorts in the whole of Christendom, and neon socks. Covered in glitter. Over by the door were his combat boots. Covered in glitter. He ruffled his hair, itched his scalp and glitter rained down, covering him.

Yeah, Flirt had gone out dancing....

John took himself to the bathroom and it was only in the shower he noticed a stinging sensation between his arse cheeks. He moaned and flopped his forehead on the cold tiles. Who in the fuck had Flirt let fuck him? He was such a fucking slut! 

It took John the rest of the day to de glitter his flat and get back to studying.

#

Sherlock skulked to Uni on monday to the sound of tribal drums. At first he thought it was the thumping of his heart but then he realised it was actual drums. The drum circle was on the lawn at the entrance to the Uni and Sherlock went to stroll past. Until he saw a small blonde man, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie askew, eyes closed, and totally into the drum between his knees.

"John?" 

It was indeed John Watson. Banging away on a big old drum. And he was enjoying it too. He opened his eyes and saw Sherlock, waved, smiled. Sherlock paused, and then..nodded. John stopped drumming, grabbed his jacket and briefcase and came over to Sherlocks side.

"Hey, how was your weekend?" John asked.

"Ah...it was good."

"Go dancing?"

"Yeah..." so Flirt had not said anything to John. "I...ah...I met your brother."

John paused and something crossed his face.

"How...how was he?"

"Uhm..." Sherlock paused. John stopped, put a hand on Sherlocks chest to stop Sherlock walking.

"Don't lie to me. You saw how hard it is on me. How was he?"

"Dancing, mostly. He introduced himself to me. Did you ah...mention me?"

John was doing some hard thinking, judging by how much his eyes shifted and the little frown between his eyes. 

"I must have...." he said quietly, then bit his bottom lip, thinking. He looked adorable like that, still flushed from drumming, that little frown, that biting of his lip...oh shit...okay now Sherlock felt way worse. Fucked one brother, crushing on the other...he was messed up dude!

"Well he is a very good dancer..." was all Sherlock said then. Tried to put a positive spin on the whole sordid thing. John was nodding.

"So....I will see you...later...?" John said absently

"Wait, did you have to come get....Erm....well, he said to call him Flirt, what is his real name?"

"No, he came home okay. Bit glittery." John said. "And Flirt will do. It will probably be something else by next week, I can never keep up." this was not entirely true. Flirt had always been Flirt but John didn't want to entirely lie to Sherlock. He was happy to leave Sherlocks 'Brother' inference in place. It was easier than saying "Oh Flirt is me, I am nuts."

"So...yeah...he's okay then?" Sherlock asked again, rubbing the back of his neck and looking a bit flushed.

That's when John knew. Knew exactly who had been up Flirt. Sherlock! Holy fucking turd on a wedding cake... Sherlock had fucked Flirt. 

"Uh John....you okay?" Sherlock asked. John had paled and was staring at him. 

"Uh...sure. Yeah. Fine. It's all fine...I will see you in toe dissection..." John stammered, and hurried off, all jacket and briefcase...

And of course that's when Sherlock knew that John knew...shit...this was going to get awkward now wasn't it?

#


	6. CHEST CAVITY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John, Molly and Sherlock piss Sally off and John tries to get resigned to Flirts influence over Sherlock.

FLIRT

CHAPTER SIX: CHEST CAVITY

John was on time for dissections class but Sherlock had got there early as it was a torso this time, concentrating on the respiratory system. He already had on his disposable apron, his safety glasses and elbow length nitrite gloves. The sleeves of his black and red checkered shirt were rolled up and there was a smattering of blood already on the apron.

In a similar state of coverings and blood was Molly Hooper, who was assisting Sherlock with this task as she had already been elbows deep in many a chest cavity. Looking on was Gregson, who only had the glasses on. He was well back and making impressed noises.

"I see the party's started." John quipped as he dumped his case and jacket and slid a white plastic apron on.

"Watson." Gregson nodded.

"Oh hello John." Molly flustered. Seriously, she could not be more obvious had she not hung blue things around her neck and made a nest like and Australian Bower Bird.

Sherlock turned and nodded. "John." 

He then delved back into the chest and pulled out a lung.

"Oh..." John said, coming over. "Look at that...a smoker?"

"No." Molly said. "But good guess John."

The rest of the class were filtering in now and Gregson set about instructing them, but the three by the body were quite distracted.

"If not a smoker, what caused this necrosis?" John was asking.

"I was going to say cancer but I think that's a bit obvious." Sherlock said. "So, maybe a disease that mimics cancer."

"Is there such a thing?"

"Yes. Its-" and Molly said a huge Latin word of which John only got three syllables of.

"Commonly called-"

"Oh yes-"

"That would explain the-"

"Yes but not these-"

"Wow, look at the vultures. You guys get off on this don't you?" Sally Donovan interrupted the three of them, bringing them back to earth. Three sets of owlish eyes on safety glasses stars at her. She paused, it was a bit creepy because of the blood, but then she laughed. "You look ridiculous."

"Well, miss Donovan, we are the best and brightest in the class. Perhaps if you were as diligent in here you would get to look just as ridiculous, as you so kindly put it, instead of relying on other talents to get you through. I imagine when you put on those little school girl costumes for Anderson you look a bit more ridiculous than we do right now." Sherlock said. He used all these words quickly so it took Sally, and indeed, Gregson, a minute to catch up but by then both Molly and John were snickering, John trying to hide his behind the dead lung he had in front of his face in forceps. 

"What?! What the fuck-" Sally began.

"There will be none of that Miss Donovan." Gregson warned, as the rest of the class caught on. They, too, began to snicker.

"But professor he-"

"What Miss Donovan does in her private life is of no importance here Mister Holmes." Gregson went on, and John laughed. He could not help it. Gregson had not entirely been on Sally's side with a quip like that and dammit, the man was still stoney faced.

"Shut up John Watson or I'll have that looney druggie brother of yours picked up and put in a nut farm!" Sally spat. John paled. He knew it could not happen, Sally had not known he even had a "Brother" until yesterday and she was only latching onto whatever would hurt the most. And hurt it did. Sally would only have to catch Flirt doing some sort of illicit drugs at a rave or dance or wherever else his alter ego liked to party, and she could cause him all sorts of trouble. Not to mention himself as...well, where Flirt went he would have to go...

Seeing the look on Johns face made Sherlock angry. It was weird. He had not felt....what was it again? Empathy...? for so long he ad forgotten just how much it hurt. His chest felt buzzy and sharp inside and he wanted to throw the scalpel at Sally.

"I have met Johns brother and he is not insane. Your hurtful statement belongs in the sand pit in kindergarten, not here at University, a place of higher learning."

"You met Johns brother? How? I have known John for years and have never met him." Molly said, looking from Sherlock to John.

"Sherlock probably sucked him off on the toilet. He's a filthy fudge packer John, and I bet your brother loved it!"

"OI!" John yelled, dropping the lung in surprise. It went splat into the kidney shaped bowl he held in his other hand.

"Enough Miss Donovan. Leave. Do not come back for the rest of the week. I will be sending a note to the dean about your behaviour here today?" Gregson said in a low voice.

"MY behaviour, what about Holmes?" Sally squeaked.

"Leave now dear. Before it gets worse." Gregson sighed, rubbing his temples. Sally spluttered for a few seconds, then grabbed her rucky and stormed out of the room.

"Now, class, get a good look at this diseased lung..." Gregson pulled everyone's attention back to the lung in question and class resumed as usual.

#

At afternoon tea John found Sherlock smoking in the back courtyard area of the university, set aside just for smokers. It was basically just a sandstone wall with a few sand filled ash trays on the cobbles, but it was mostly undercover. The sun was filtering through and Sherlock was enjoying the sun on his upturned face, blowing smoke into the sky and relaxing.

"So, you're gay then." John stated from the wall to Sherlocks left. Sherlock did not jump, even though he had not heard John arrive, but only because he had been thinking of John at the time. His voice blended with his thoughts.

"Yes. Does it matter?"

"To who, to me? No." John said. "It's fine. It's all fine."

"Are you?" Sherlock asked.

"No, God no, I like the ladies." John said. Fourteen things he did with his facial muscles told Sherlock John was lying to himself and so was lying to him as well, but he did not say anything. Just drew in a other puff of smoke and played with his lip ring.

"Is it important to have these labels John?" He asked then. John shrugged. 

"Not sure I have cared to think too deeply about them." he said, and Sherlock knew THAT to be the truth. If John looked too carefully he may have found out he was not as hetch as he thought.

"Your brother.." Sherlock said then. "Is he older or younger?"

John fidgeted a bit. It was a difficult question to answer. Technically Flirt had come to light when John was about 12, so that would make him younger, but they of course looked the same age because they were both him.

"He's..." John paused. He could tell Sherlock. Tell him right now, that he was crazy, he blacked out and became a whole other person, a dancing gay man with loose morals and an addiction to glitter, but he liked the way Sherlock was looking at him. Interested. Those sea green eyes on him, soaking him up, impressed by him...how could he let Sherlock know anything about who Flirt really was....

"I had sex with him John." Sherlock suddenly said and John went very VERY still, cos yeah, Sherlock fucked Flirt but he used Johns arse to do it.

"I know." John said quietly.

"We were both under the influence." Sherlock said, in for a penny. 

"I have no doubt." John said. Flirt always did this to him. Seriously, as if his body was only Flirts to toss about. John had to exercise and eat well twice as much because of Flirts excesses. 

"I won't do it again John, if you don't want me to."

" Sherlock....he will make you. He has this...aura. You will succumb again as easily as if he hypnotised you." John sighed.

"He has a magical arsehole then?"

"No...but he IS a magical arsehole. Just..." John sighed again, weakly. "Be aware, he won't want much from you but he will take all of what you offer him. Just be careful."

Sherlock inhaled more smoke and blew it out again. He turned to look at John who looked.....so darn sad!

"John-"

"You are not the first of my friends he has done this to. No doubt you won't be the last. I have to go. I am missing a femur."

"Oh yes...sorry about your femur..shall I see you tomorrow...?"

"I should think so." John said over his shoulder as he wandered off.

Sherlock looked at the door John went through long after he finished his cigarette and vowed to stay away from Flirt. 

But weather Flirt could stay away from him remained to be seen.

#


	7. UNPROFESSIONAL BEHAVIOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anderson is sooooooo mean! And Flirt accidently comes out be even Sherlock doesn't notice....or DOES he?

FLIRT

CHAPTER SEVEN: UNPROFESSIONAL BEHAVIOUR

Johns missing femur turned up on the seat of Professor Anderson's room. It was in an upright position with a little note attached saying "A bone for you to slip to Sally." unfortunately, as with all Johns skeletal parts, the words "Property of John H Watson" and his mobile number were engraved on the femur. 

"John FUCKING Watson!!!!" Anderson roared, and raced out of his room, femur clenched firmly in his fist.

It did not take Anderson long to track John down.

#

John was practically head butting the metal janitorial closet in the hall.

"I could have just said he was younger." he swore to himself. "Then that would be true, and, if he thought we looked very similar, maybe Sherlock would have perhaps assumed we were twins and I came out first. Why do I always think of these things the next day?"

He dumped his briefcase and jacket and bent to the water fountain. After a nice refreshing drink he wiped the back of his mouth and saw Sherlock just coming in the doors with a few other people, ready for the day. He was in a black scarf and jacket as it was quite cold outside, his usual black jeans and black and blue striped hoodie.

John waved and Sherlock nodded, heading his way.

Then the angry form of Professor Anderson stormed into the entrance, pushing past the crowd and Sherlock, the femur still clutched in his hand.

"MISTER Watson!!" He roared, and John jumped slightly. "I assume this is yours?" Anderson added, and lobbed the femur at John. John ducked and the bone bounced off the brick wall behind him to land a little bit away from him.

"Ah, yeah, I was looking for that..." John stammered. The fuck was up with Anderson?

"I would thank you not to leave it on my chair with a lewd note attached to it!" Anderson yelled into Johns face.

"What-?" was all John got out before Anderson put his hands up...

Later, all the witnesses swore Anderson pushed John but in fact he didn't. All he did was touch Johns collarbones in PREPARATION of pushing him, but Sherlock was the only one who had the observational skills to see that Johns reaction was more to the THREAT of being touched, not the actual touching. Sherlock of course stored all this in his hard drive as he always did, and it would come in useful later, but now he was reacting to what was happening.

John screamed and whirled, and his forehead collided with the sharp edge of the metal janitorial cupboard with a resounding "Bonnnnnng" and a collective gasp went up from the crowd. Sherlock immediately sped to his friends as John bounced back, limply, and began to fall. 

Anderson held his hands up.

"I didn't touch him, I never touched him!" he was swearing. "You saw it, I barely even laid a hand on him!"

John by now had dropped to the floor, moaning. His eyesight was dimming and the pain was terrible, like someone had cleaved his head with an axe. Then Sherlock was there, rolling him over gently, putting Johns jacket under his head. 

Johns eyes rolled and Sherlock got out his phone to call 999. Then john made an awful choking groany sound so he handed the phone to someone nearby and they dealt with getting an ambulance. Anderson was still trying to get witnesses to back him up but Sherlock developed tunnel vision and hearing, and totally concentrated on John....

He loosened the bleeding mans tie and used the scarf he had worn today to gently stem the flow. Johns eyes were mere slits.

"Stay with me John, you'll be okay." Sherlock murmured, stroking the side of Johns pale face. Johns eyes rolled inside the lids and he took in a shuddery breath. He smiled really slowly and gently.

"Sherlock...you have really pretty ey-" 

And then John passed out cold.

"John. John!" Sherlock shook his friend gently, but John was way under, and still bleeding. Anderson was looking around for anyone to back him up and not getting lucky.

"I seriously did not touch him! He hid a bone on -"

"Oh for the love of God Anderson do SHUT UP!!!" Sherlock roared at the professor and then he heard sirens. The ambulance station must be really close... Sherlock took Johns head into his lap and used his other arm to motion the crowd back. His phone was pushed back into his hand and he pocketed it again.

Suddenly a scream was heard and Molly Hooper skidded to her knees at the side of John Watson.

"Is he okay, Sherlock, what happened?"

"Molly, settle down, he's hit his head and he's unconscious."

"They told me Professor Anderson attacked him!" Molly exclaimed. The professor in question had made himself scarce. "what happened?"

By now the crowd were ushering the paramedics through the hall to the injured man. Finally some lovely blue jumpsuited men crouched beside Sherlock. Sherlock didnt answer Molly's question. 

"Mate, let go, let me see." one of the paramedics said, gently grabbing Sherlocks wrist. He hadn't, until then, realised he was still clamping his scarf down on Johns injury. 

"Oh yes, sorry..." he relaxed, and the ambo pulled the black material off Johns head. 

The injury was still bleeding but sluggishly. It was bruised and would need stitches. The skin had gaped open in the middle and Sherlock knew it would scar. 

"Jeez, that's nasty. Okay, how longs he been unconscious?" the medic asked.

"Five minutes." Sherlock said. "But he was a bit confused before he passed out."

"Comfused how?"

"Told me I had pretty eyes."

"You're not his boyfriend?

"No." Calmly.

"You miss, you his girlfriend?"

Molly blushed and shook her head.

"Only one of you can come with us."

"Oh Sherlock you go. I'll be fine. I have some...thing to take care of...just let me know how he is?" Molly asked, clutching at her fingers.

"Of course Miss Hooper." Sherlock said, allowing the paramedics to slide John off his lap and onto a gurney. John moaned and Sherlock was instantly at his side, Molly forgotten.

"John, are you back with me?"

"Thank you..." John whispered, reaching out his hand. Sherlock clasped it, even as the gurney was being trundled through the curious crowd and out the front of the university. 

"For what John?"

"Dancing with me..."

And Johns eyes rolled closed again.

#


	8. THE MOUSE THAT KICKED ARSE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Andersons secret is revealed, Molly grows a pair, and Sherlock puts two and two together and gets Flirt...

FLIRT

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE MOUSE THAT KICKED ARSE

Molly Hooper knew that most of the people at University called her Molly the Mouse. She didn't mind. She worked with mice and the more she learned the more she liked. However, she knew that her mouse tag was because she was always so quiet and flustered and nervy around living humans. It was why she like the dead ones so much.

As she gathered up Johns femur, briefcase and jacket to keep safe until she heard from Sherlock, she began to feel something. Angry. She was so frightfully angry with Anderson she was unsure what she should do about it. She was not going to bottle it up, oh no. She could go to the gun range and let off some shots on her registered hand gun but that did not seem proactive enough.

She carried Johns stuff to the morgue and locked them in her desk. She tied her hair back in a pony tail and played with her necklace. Whoosh whoosh whoosh zip zip zip...the pendant rode the rails of her chain. 

Then she slid off her ever present white lab coat, hung it over her chair, and went to find Professor Anderson.

#

Sherlock was a certified genius. Half the issues with Sigur had been over the fact that Sherlock "hid his genius behind his piercings and black clothes" but Sherlock enjoyed the blandness his look encouraged in others, like they didn't want to get the punk riled up enough to nut 'em....

Plus, dressed as a punk he could look unemotional and people would assume it was because he was all angry inside. That truth was, he generally felt nothing inside. Being a gothic emopunk was an excellent disguise.

But the whole John being injured thing had knocked Sherlock about. He had only just met the man and now he was injured and Sherlock was all confused by....feelings and things. So was it any wonder that the clues knocking in his skull took a while to come to the surface?

Don't judge him! These feels were new!

#

Molly found Anderson at the Deans office. Dean Osbourne was just ushering a protesting Anderson out of the room. In the chair next to the office were a few of the witnesses.

"I really protest at being suspended for three weeks. It is entirely an over reaction!" Amderson complained bitterly. The Dean looked like thunder. 

"I have a number of witnesses who saw you push Mister Watson." he said. 

"I did NOT push him! They are lying!"

"The discrepancy between your story and theirs is why you are only suspended for three weeks. If I were any more sure you would be out of a job."

"How do explain how Watsons femur got on my chair? He was already making fun of Sally-" Anderson stopped.

"Sally?" the Dean asked.

"Donovan. A student here." Molly supplied. "Sally put Johns femur on the professors chair. She thinks I am nobody, that I don't count and that I don't see, but I watched her take the femur from Johns briefcase and I followed her to Professor Anderson's room." 

"Let me get this straight Anderson....you are in a relationship with a student here AND laid hands on another student." The Dean said through clenched teeth.

"I...no...Sally...I tutor her..." Anderson said

"In the history of anime?" Molly asked.

"No, in diseases of the blood" Anderson insisted.

"Then why is she often dressed like Sailor Moon when you tutor her?" Molly hissed.

Andersons mouth gaped open like a fish, and he flushed red as the other students laughed at his predicament.

"Miss Hooper, Professor Anderson, in my office. Anderson, you are looking at being asked to find another job."

Molly smiled a princess smile and followed the men into the office. One of the witnesses, a lovely boy called Tom, waved his fingers at her and she waved back, so emboldened she forgot to be all shy and flustered.

#

John was stitched and bandaged and allowed to go home in three hours. Sherlock had used that time to pace and think, and the conclusions he drew....

He and John were perhaps going to have to have a talk.

John signed his release papers, took up the complimentary bottle of painkillers, smiled his thanks to the desk nurse, and turned to Sherlock.

"Ow....man...I want to go home..." John moaned. "Thank you so much for waiting with me."

"I'll take you. Let's get a cab." Sherlock said. He was sure that John had not deliberately fooled him...at least he was MOSTLY sure, and despite this being a delicious mystery for his massive brain to solve, Sherlock actually worried about John too. The many variables running through Sherlocks brain would be calmed and straightened after a chat to John.

When they got to Johns place Sherlock paid the cabby and gently helped his injured friend up the stairs to Johns tiny flat.

It was a nice place, all warm wood and second hand but comfy furniture. John let himself gently onto his plush velvet couch and moaned softly.

"You want a drink?" Sherlock asked.

"Tea...please...and you don't have to stay." John said.

"I want to." Sherlock said, rattling in the kitchen. "And, I kind of have to."

"Oh...?." John asked.

"Yeah....I have some things to ask you."

"I have no idea how the bone got into Anderson's hand." John said.

"Oh that's simple. Sally Donovan would have had something to do with it." Sherlock said, coming out with two teas. He passed one to John who sipped its comforting gratefully. "No, what I want to know is....why did you lie to me about Flirt?"

"What....what do you mean?" John stammered.

"I mean....why didn't you tell me you are both the very same bloke...."

#


	9. RESPONSIBLE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is filled with ick and feels and nasty.

FLIRT

CHAPTER NINE: RESPONSIBLE

John looked shifty.

Sherlock could tell he was on the verge of lying. He found himself hoping really REALLY hard that John would not....would not lie to him. For two reasons. He would love it if John trusted him enough to tell him everything, of course, but also...wouldn't it be nice to finally NOT be underestimated in the brains department. To be thought of as clever and SHOWN that....

John sipped his tea. The inner debate was clear to Sherlock behind those pretty slate grey eyes. 

John swallowed.

He put his cup on the coffee table, next to Sherlocks.

He rested back into the couch.

Sherlock copied him.

Then John turned to him, decision reached.

"My whole life I have been responsible for myself." he said. "From the earliest I can remember, I made my own sandwiches, cleaned up my own messes, got myself where I needed to be. A lot of the time I don't recall there being anyone around, although the house bills got paid and the lawn got mowed and I always had clean clothes." Johns eyes began to roam. He was not on his couch with Sherlock, he was back in his childhood home.

"There was my mum, my dad, my sister Harry and me. Mum was a doctor, dad was a town planner, Harry was in ballet. Very busy people, always doing stuff, being somewhere, and good old John left at home to fend for himself.

"And in the bungalow down the back was dads brother, Uncle Marcus. He never came into the house but when I turned twelve he began to invite me in to watch anime and read his graphic novels. He also began to touch me. I loved it. Human touch, and love like that, was so unexpected and warm and comforting. At first.

"He would kiss me, and let me kiss him. He would hug me. And rub me, and let me rub him. Then he took to sucking me, taking my cock in his mouth and it felt soooo good...and when he let me do it to him I felt like king of the world.

"Uncle Marcus told me it was good I had come to him because it was obvious I was a big gay flirt and, if he didn't take me in hand I would maybe become a gay rapist with all the slutty morals I had bursting from me, but it was okay. Marcus would take care of me and not let me loose on the population.

"In a way he was right. I was gay, I had known it on some level most of my life, but knew not to tell anyone, especially my dad, who always called gay men bloody perverts. When I knew what a pervert was I was so ashamed of myself that what Marcus said about me became my own self fulfilling prophecy.

"That was why later, Marcus was rough with me. He liked to hurt. It was punishment for getting hard looking at the pictures of naked men doing each other, which indecently, HE was the one who showed me. So he would spank me, and later cane me, drop not wax on my balls, sometimes punch me. He liked me to have a split lip so when he forced his cock in my mouth it would crack and bleed. 

"And then he came home with different drugs. He was a vet nurse. He access to some stuff. He would tranquillise me so I was compliant and could do whatever he wanted to me. Later, he brought him anaesthetic which he injected into my arsehole so he could fuck me hard without prep, or shove large things inside me and take pictures.

"And then one day he injected the anaesthetic into my chest, just under my collar bones, shoved these shiny silver hooks into me, and hung me from the rafter of his bungalow so he could really cane me, all over, stripe after stripe after stripe...

"But that I barely remember. 

"Since I have always been responsible for myself my brain created an alter ego that enjoyed Uncle Marcus' little games. I was told later, because years before this happened I shattered. Me. John, I detested what Uncle Marcus did, so I created and Alter who loved it. Craved it. Took whatever Uncle Marcus wanted to do to me. And I called him Flirt, because Marcus had already called me that..

"And after the games... stopped, I was responsible for my own psychosis, because it has only ever BEEN me that looked out for me.

"And now.... Sherlock....I am tired. I am tired of always being responsible for myself. I would like...in fact I think I need...someone to look after me. That's why I let Flirt out in the hallway after Anderson tried to touch me and..." he waved to his injured head. "...this...and why...Flirt wanted you at the rave, wanted you to take him roughly and fuck him...because that's what he was made for. And he likes it, he really does, don't feel bad. Please. Please...just...please don't...because Flirt was just trying to get you to notice me...John me..just don't hate him..please...and don't run...and don't please don't...hurt me..please..."

Johns chest began to heave and he could feel choking sobs bubbling to the surface. He was cracking and he could feel it. All those years keeping this secret from dad, mum, Harry, everyone, and now this one long streaky white punk comes swanning in and all the careful walls crumbled until....

It was only then he dared look at Sherlock....

#


	10. FEELS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is unbelievably wonderful.

FLIRT

CHAPTER TEN: FEELS

Sodding fucking arse tits!

Sherlock had to be careful with what he wished for because yeah, John told him the truth and the truth was bad. The truth was awful.

The truth, as it were, sucked balls.

And damn. So....these tears on his face, dripping from his chin, this was empathy, yeah? Fuck. Empathy hurt. 

Oh and this red haze in his head, this buzzing in his chest, these goosebumps...this was rage, obviously. And...the pounding in his head? The need to revenge...or was it avenge...his friend. Oh these were visceral, reptile feelings and they all crowded his head and his throat, all wanting to come out all at once...

And then he saw John, here, now, on the couch, so small and scared. His eyes dull, hunched, ready for the blow he sensed was coming. Rejection. Pain. Self worth destroyed. Sherlock was scared. It all hung on what he said next, John had laid himself completely bare, and that sort of voluntary vulnerability was a breath of completely fresh air, tainted as it was with Johns horrific abuse.

Sherlock swallowed. He unclenched fists he did not know he had clenched. This was not about his manly reaction, his knee jerk need to destroy Uncle Marcus for the filth and terror he put his lovely John through. This was about making sure that the gigantic risk John Jad taken, in admitting all that horror, had been totally totally worth it.

So Sherlock made a circle. He took both Johns hands in his, gently. Like a battery in a car, the circuit was complete. He saw it clearly in his over functioning mind. John would know he was safe, he had done the right thing, he had told the very right person.

But Sherlock also knew that John would need a verbal confirmation that all was well. This was way more difficult for Sherlock, who had never really had meaningful conversations, and even of he had, they would have paled into insignificance in the face of this.

And most of all, he had to make it about John, not Sherlock...

So he looked John right on the eye.

"You have got to be the single bravest person I have ever met." was all he could say, around the lump in his throat. A lump of warm, un-shed vomit that quivered but remained where it was. "To have gone through all that and still be alive, even if it meant tearing yourself in two...how could you not be anything short of amazing John Watson."

After that the sob that fell from him stopped any other words he could have said, even if he had wanted to speak.

John had gone so still that Sherlock wondered for a second weather the poor boy was in some sort of petit mal seizure until he gasped in, like he had been holding his breath, and then sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, lips shivering and chest heaving for breath. He fell forward at the same time Sherlock tugged on his hands and pressed his forehead into Sherlocks shoulder. 

Sherlock wrapped the man in his arms and held him, firmly, warmly, safely some could cry and cry and cry. Having that jerking body pressed to him brought out feelings Sherlock had had very rarely. In fact right before this minute in his life the closest he had come to this was Mycroft, his prig of an older brother who...well, he had some good points. Oh but John, needing him right now, stripped bare and scalded, brought out the same feelings he had for Mycroft but a thousand fold. 

Yeah there was anger and revenge and horror and fear but over all that, like a layer of lava, was this soft and wonderful feeling.

Love.

Oh joy!

He was in love with John Watson, this amazing tank of a man who had quite easily slipped in through his defences and given him hope.

#


	11. CONNECTION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut with a tongue piercing blow job.

FLIRT

CHAPTER ELEVEN: CONNECTION

When John had finally stopped crying, Sherlock lifted him up. He smiled sweetly and used the sleeve of his hoodie to gently wipe Johns swollen eyes.

"It's all okay." he said softly.

"Oh..." John nodded.

"Promise." Sherlock rubbed his thumb across Johns cheek.

Then somehow, and he was not going to ask how, Sherlock found himself pressing a very compliant John back into the couch and kissing him. Make no mistake, it was a hot kiss, but it was slow and languid. Loving and deep. And John liked it, he moaned and curled his tongue over Sherlocks.

He wanted to feel loved and Sherlock wanted to love him. It was simple. 

They moved against each other for delicious friction and Sherlock was unaware of ever feeling this good this fast. He deduced it must be the man not merely the actions. This physical stuff, he had done before, but this feeling, oh he had never had this, and it was wonderful!

John was having a similar awakening. Flirt was always 'quick to love' but John had always been so chaste, even with the girls he chose to date to be a good boy, make his family proud and accept him. They never did of course, and this drove him back to Marcus again and again, a vicious horrible cycle.

Kissing Sherlock was way different to kissing girls. He was stronger and stubbly and his tongue tasted really nice. Plus, he was kind. He was actually kind to John. Not that he was pathetically grateful, but he was...grateful of course. He moaned as Sherlocks thumb rubbed his jawline gently, stroking him as his sucked on his bottom lip, and then dove back in to deepen the kiss.

Kissing John was unlike kissing anyone. For a start, he was a fucking fantastic kisser, beautiful lips and velvet tongue, at once yielding and fighting. Johns fingers in his hair were strong, grippy, but not hurty. Just keeping Sherlock where he needed to be to give good kisses, and receive the same. Sherlock figured he could keep kissing John for hours, his mouth was just so plump and warm. And when he sucked or used his teeth on the lip ring, or his tongue piercing, Sherlock actually shivered.

John pulled Sherlock off his lips with both his hands buried in Sherlocks blue streaked hair.

"I want more."

Sherlock quirked his eyebrow rings.

"Mmm, more? Tell me." he whispered, his sea green eyes staring into Johns, one of his long and clever-fingered hands undoing Johns ever present tie.

"I am being selfish but...oh I want..."

"I want to give you what you need. You don't need to do anything. You are injured and I just want to make you feel good." Sherlock murmured, sliding the tie out of Johns shirt collar and letting it fall to the ground next to the couch. "Let me...trust me...give yourself to me and I promise it will be lovely."

Johns fingers fell from Sherlocks hair and he allowed his hands to flop, boneless, fingers curled, on the couch pillow. It was the sexiest 'I surrender' Sherlock had ever seen. He hummed in appreciation and began to unbutton Johns shirt. Slowly. One button, quick brush of his fingertips, next button.

John stiffened a bit.

"My scars..."

"Shh." was all Sherlock said, almost inaudibly. He did not give John any false platitudes. The scars were there, he had seen them on Flirt, they were a fact.

Finally the shirt was completely undone. Sherlock swept the material aside and Johns nipples hardened straight away. He arched, silently begging for them to be touched, and touch them Sherlock did. He ran his lips over one, barely touching the aching nub, letting the cold of his lip ring bounce over it. His soft breath made John moan lightly, arching up, trying to get his nipple into something wet and warm, but Sherlock wouldn't let him. Not yet.

"Please...."

Sherlock darted the very tip of his tongue out and flicked the barest touch on Johns nipple. John sighed, arched, and wiggled, but all Sherlock allowed was the very tiniest of wetness to the very tiniest tip of Johns dusky pink nipple. 

"Oh God..." John sighed. "Please..."

Sherlock did the same to the other nipple but kindly rubbed his thumb over the nipple he previously tortured and teased. John moaned again, twisting, desperate to get Sherlocks hot hot mouth on him. He could just imagine what the punks teeth and...OH!

Sherlock surprised him by sucking one of his nipples, hard, into his mouth. Then he caused John a wee frisson of pleasure/pain by flickering his tongue piercing rapidly over his taut skin.

"God!" John spat, curling up and then throwing his head back, tilting his neck and arching his back. Sherlock kept the staccato up, John could HEAR the metal clicking, and it was driving him nuts! Sherlocks hand, meanwhile, was pinching up the skin around Johns other nipple and squeezing into a pink mound with that stunning pointy nipple poking up, ready to be used.

Sherlock crossed his mouth over Johns chest and took the whole thing inside his lips. He began suckling on it. John moaned and sobbed a tiny bit because then the lanky bastard rattled his tongue piercing over the most sensitive part of his nipple reducing poor John to shaking, incoherent begging.

Sherlock took Johns head in both his hands and surged up for another kiss. As he did so he rubbed his whole body on Johns, making sure the rough material of his hoodie scraped deliciously on the reddened nipples under his chest.

John kissed Sherlock quite sluttily. He was feeling sexy and dirty and so wanton but in a really good way. He used his tongue, he rolled his hips, and he rubbed his body up on Sherlocks. Sherlock moaned, looping his tongue in Johns mouth and sucking on Johns bottom lip again.

"Suck me." John begged. "Please, with that metal in your mouth, I want to feel it on my cock."

Sherlock groaned, resting his forehead gently on Johns for a second, avoiding the bandage as much as he could.

"Nice..." he whispered. "Dirty mouth...nice..."

He sat up, unzipped Johns trousers and slowly eased them down, leaving Johns gorgeous blue boyleg pants on. Johns dick was hard and made a very attractive bulge. So, once Sherlock had thrown the trousers over his shoulder he slid down, kneed Johns thighs apart, and nosed at the cock-hard bulge in Johns pants.

"Sher...." John swallowed and added "....lock...."

Sherlock once again took his time, teasing with his nose and his cheek, and his thumbs, playing with Johns cock but not taking it out of Johns pants.

John tried so hard not to beg but seriously, looking down to see that hot mop of black curls, streaked with blue, between his thighs like that...it was maddening!

So yes, he begged!

"Sherlock, your mouth, please!" he murmured, running his own hands down his chest to pinch his wet and swollen nipples. "Please, suck me. Please, I need you. Please...please.."

Sherlock loved the way John made the word 'please' sound so filthy. So what could he do but slowly drag the elastic band of Johns pants down his rock hard veiny cock and lick the very tip of it with his very tip of his tongue. 

John squeezed both his nipples in the crab claws that were his thumbs and pointer fingers, trapping the tortured flesh in the webbing between. He hissed and arched, begging with his body for more than Sherlock was giving him. 

Then, oh, that tongue piercing, foreign and cold on his cock head, rattling against his straining skin and then oh yes, sliding languidly down the underide of his cock, followed by the hot wet suction of Sherlocks heavenly mouth.

John flopped down, his spine suddenly useless but then he was arching up again, pinching his own nipples and trying to fuck Sherlocks mouth. Sherlock slid his tounge, his piercing, and his lips, up the length of John again, rattled the slit, and sank back down, sucking HARD as he did so. John almost squealed and then... Sherlock hollowed his cheeks and sucked. He built up a pleasing rhythm so quickly that Johns vision blurred. He kept a hold of his own dreadfully swollen nipples and jerked his hips, thrusting his cock against the metal and mouth around him.

"Shit shit shit close..." he panted. "Close, already, shit...fuck, Sherlock, fuck..."

Sherlock responded to Johns urgency by not only increasing his pace but rubbing the ball of his piercing over the V at the crook of Johns cock head before sinking down again. The wet sound of Sherlock slurping on his super-hard dick was so obscene and dirty that John only thrust three more times before a white light hit him, fireworks jabbed behind his eyes and he was coming, screaming Sherlocks name and allowing his hips to stutter and bounce on the couch.

When he was through, he collapsed, like a noodle. His arms fell from his chest, his head fell back, and his knees flopped out, splaying himself like a cheap slut. Sherlock chuckled, tucked Johns cock away and slid up to kiss him softly on the neck, the throat, lips and eyes.

"Thank.." was all John could say.

"Welc..." Sherlock joked, pulling the couch blanket over them both and snuggling into the crook of Johns shoulder.

"Nice." John muttered, eyes rolling closed.

"Mmm."

"Sleep."

"Yes."

"Stay."

"Of course."

"......"

"'night...."

#


End file.
